


Soldiers and Storytellers

by Songofpsalms297



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Autocorrect has some interesting word choices for me., Carver Hawke/Merril (Mentioned) - Freeform, Eventual Inquistior Trevelyan/Cullen Rutherford - Freeform, F/M, Gen, Happy perpetual headcannon: Cassaric Doribul Inquisi-Cullen, Implied Iron Bull/Dorian Pavus - Relationship - Freeform, It apparently wants to be larger, This was supposed to be a sweet bit of fluff.
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-08
Updated: 2018-05-22
Packaged: 2018-11-11 06:39:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11142933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Songofpsalms297/pseuds/Songofpsalms297
Summary: How soldier's tales are gathered and camaraderies are formed.





	1. Chapter 1

            She had no illusions as to her attractiveness. She had a soldier’s body, hard muscles from near constant training and action. She had a soldier’s sense of modesty as well.  She saw no reason to be a shrinking violet when it came time to change, or bathe with her fellows.  She knew her features were angular to the extreme, especially when she overheard the dwarf muttering in his sleep about “cheek bones hard and sharp enough to cut if you touched it” and “Seek’r’s hard angles, sharp lines.” It was nothing to hear him muttering in his sleep. Truly it had become normal to her during their travel from Kirkwall to Haven, and it had changed to something comforting to her during their travel from Haven to Skyhold. While he was her prisoner, they’d had to share a tent, so she could better keep watch over him. She guarded him, to better monitor his correspondence to his associates.  She had come to grudging admiration for the actions he undertook to keep his “family” safe from her and the Chantry’s grasp.  She chuckled remembering his term, eyes twinkling, laughter in his voice, “I think you mean subtle machinations there, Seeker.”

            Somehow, over the months of traveling, and then working together side by side, their relationship had changed from openly hostile, and antagonistic, to friendly ribbing. She enjoyed the new “tone” of their friendship, often looking for a way to discover something new he was plotting to do to her favorite characters. She blushed scarlet remembering how heated their last argument about _Swords and Shields_ had gone. She had really only meant to slam her tankard down on the table to punctuate her feelings about the Knight Captain’s current plight. It was an old table, really. It must have been. That was the only real explanation for how it had come crashing down after she hit it with her tankard. She had glanced at him in horror and shock, and after reflecting her shock back at her, he’d had the unmitigated gall to laugh! She had stormed out of the tavern that night, and had not returned to their Wicked Grace games for two full weeks. She knew she was no good at being devious. But she had looked for a way to regain her dignity, or at least mortify him so they would once again be on even footing.

            While walking through the Hinterlands, after discussing the finer points of intelligent armor design, Iron Bull had pointed out Varric’s seeming desire to bathe and dress alone. The rest of their group seemed to share that same soldier’s mentality she had grown up with. They were all soldiers, they were proud of the condition their bodies and minds were in. Soldiers bonded over scar stories more than anything else. She and Gaylan had received twin scars on their arms when the dragon they were fighting suddenly spun with more grace than you’d expect from a lumbering beast, and knocked them into a wall.  The dragon’s tail spike had scored the arms they brought up to shield their faces, her shield shattered on the floor, the movement so sudden Gaylan hadn’t been able to pull up a spirit shield to cover the two of them. They’d laughed about it later.  Even Solas seemed to have no problem peeling off the sweat or grime soaked layers he wore, and diving nude into a pool, once he’d set wards around the perimeter.

            Their whole party had heard many stories from one another and learned details of each other’s lives from this honest display of nudity.She smiled when she remembered Evie sharing how she had gained the jagged scar on her buttocks. Evie and her sister had tried stealing some of their neighbor's fruit, and when he caught them at it, in their haste to get away, Evie had slipped and fallen on a sharp rock in the brook they were crossing. She'd been 9 then, and feared no one would want to marry a noble with a "marred fanny".  Maker, they had all laughed until their sides hurt from that one.  It helped bind their forces together. Cassandra knew how Cullen had gained the scar that split his lip. Had been there with Varric, fighting in an ambush when a would-be assassin had materialized behind Varric. Cullen had shouted catching the assassin’s attention. Unfortunately, the assassin’s blades were already moving in a downward arc, and Cullen could not raise his shield in time.  Cassandra smiled remembering Varric sharing the tale of Cullen’s thrilling heroics at the campfire that night, and almost every time there was a new audience for the tale. It had been nice to see Cullen gain some recognition for the good he did, and it did mitigate some of the antagonism the former Knight-Captain had faced since their troop had left Kirkwall. Over time, Cullen had begun to share his own version of the story.  The more Cassandra thought about it, the more puzzled she became by Varric’s behavior.

            Everyone who knew of the dwarf even slightly knew he gathered tales with an obsession that rivaled Evie’s elfroot fascination. So why he would make himself scarce during a time that was ripe for story fodder, Cassandra didn't know. As she thought back to her travels with him, she realized his reticence to bathe or change with the soldiers began right around the time they had been ambushed on the Storm Coast. The attack that had left Cassandra with the deep scar on her jaw. Cassandra made a plan to discuss the dwarf’s absence with him at the next opportunity she got. 


	2. Why

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra ponders Varric's reasons for avoiding her.

Irritation seethed in her gut. Reasonably, she understood there was no need for get to get angry with Varric. She'd begun her quest intrigued by his avoidance of soldier's and the tales they inevitably told of their scars. She'd been surprised to discover he didn't avoid these opportunities for story fodder with others. Cullen, Harding, Krem, and others had shared tales of Varric eagerly seeking out soldiers to learn how that soldier had made this history as defined by their patchwork skin. And yet, Cassandra fumed, he still avoided the gatherings where she was involved. It made no sense and she could not ask him, he would only lie to her about the real reason. She was frustrated by his behavior. They had been building a tentative friendship she had thought, but his avoidance more recently made her question what she thought she knew. On their journey from Kirkwall to their port on the waking sea, there relationship went from antagonistic digs to sarcastic teasing. She still smiled at the memory of a quipped response that caused him to look at her like a gaping fish before he'd recovered with his usual aplomb.  
His reaction had surprised her so much that she'd forgotten what she had said. She would like to render him speechless again.  
Frustration boiled away the pleasant sensation as she thought of their current relationship. He was avoiding her company for some reason. She would just have to determine why.  
Thinking she'd have to ask a favor of Leliana, she set her feet toward the rookery determination fueling her, she set off on her goal, smile on her face.


	3. Campfires and Oasis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh so many things happen. Varric in the Herald's Rest hiding from Cassandra. The Hissing Wastes. Campfires, shared tales.

He wasn't ready. Maker knew he should have been. He shouldn't have had any of that swill Bull liked to pass around. He'd know the confrontation had been inevitable since he'd spotted her scowling at him from across the Herald's Rest. He studiously appeared to be looking anywhere but when the leggy brunette stood near the bar. He noticed the moment she spotted him too. She'd been startled to see him in his customary spot with the Chargers. He snorted, obviously he'd been doing a better job of avoiding her than even he had realized, if the sight of him caused her to almost dump her tankard of, well, whatever it was. She recovered nicely though. Good for her, he thought. Maker she was beautiful. Even pissed at him. His grin catches him unawares. He catches further movement from the tail of his eye. Shit. She was coming his way. He pretended to be absorbed in his conversation with Krem. Thank the Maker he could still carry on a conversation without obviously looking for escape routes. Shit. She was between him and the door. Where was Buttercup when he needed her, or the kid? Nah, maybe the kid would harm his chances of escaping the "Wrath of Cassandra Pentaghast", he chuckled. He'd have to remember that title. Shit. She'd managed to navigate closer to his position. He was grateful the Rest was practically packed with everyone from the Inquisition. Hell, all some enterprising terrorist would need to do was toss in a handful of Gaatlok. Three-quarters of the Inquisition would be dead in five minutes. That prospect didn't terrify him nearly as much as the angry seeker making her way toward him. The way she was glaring at him made him feel she was trying to will him to remain where he was. He needed a way out, now.

He knows this confrontation with Cassandra is coming. What's more, he understands why. Though it doesn't stop him from bracing himself for impact whenever she is in the vicinity. She wants answers, and he's not sure he's ready to divulge the information that just might see him hanging from Skyhold's crow's nest by his nethers come morning. Maker's balls. Time to disappear. Bull crossed in front of Varric with a very drunk Sparkler draped across his massive shoulders. He didn't even try to stop the grin that covered his face. Sometimes the duo would remind him so forcefully of Hawke and Broody that Varric's heart would ache. What he wouldn't give to have these guys at a table with the Kirkwall crew. He chuckled, Nora'd throw them out of the Hanged Man before 3, he was certain of it. Hell, she might not even let them in the door. Bull nodded at Varric as he made his way from the bar and to his and Sparkler's rooms. He was thrilled that they had found acceptance, respect, and love in one another. Sighing, his thoughts turned to Bianca. His heart constricted at the thought he'd cause her pain with the letter he had sent terminating their ... relationship. He knew she'd read between the lines and realize just what it was he was telling her. He couldn't be her dirty little secret anymore. And with Hero making ironbark gears for his crossbow, Varric didn't have any reason to hold on to her anymore. Varric was braced for that fall out as well.

And following Hawke, and now Trevelyan around, he had enough intrigue and danger without having to fend off assassination attempts anymore. He'd gotten too old for that shit. Funny how that realization came out of the blue, walking through Hightown in the wake of Blondie's death. Glancing toward the bar, surreptitiously, (he snorted, because no one would believe that line of bullshit but himself apparently). He realized it was time to make tracks. He hoped Bull's evil swill had less of an effect on dwarven constitution than it had on humans, or elves. Otherwise, Cassandra would catch him for sure this time. Unbidden the image of two beautiful, tawny hands came to mind. one hand wrapped around a square of Celestine Black, the other bracing the hilt of her sword. The sword itself draped upon a nugskin polishing cloth, and that resting upon enticing knees. He fought his reaction to the memory, she'd caught his gaze that afternoon. He'd spotted what appeared to be matching scars across the knuckles of both hands, and he hadn't been able to resist asking her what it was from. She'd laughed then. A clear sound that had resonated through him, and brought his jaded heart back to life.

Edging through the crowd himself, he angled his body to avoid Cassandra and to get out of the tavern. He’d had enough conversation and bullshit for tonight. Escaping along the ramparts, Varric allowed himself a sigh of relief. He paused for a moment on his journey back to his room to peer over the side and enjoy the moonlight dancing across the newest batch of snow. Wistfulness stole over him, leaning against the cold stone wall he allowed his thoughts free reign. Well, free-er than usual. He was 40 years old for Andraste’s sake. His father had been driven from Orzammar and had a wife and two boys by this age. He was trying to rebuild the favor of House Tethras. While Varric hadn’t pined over the knowledge that he and Bianca wouldn’t ever have rugrats, hadn’t really ever considered having them except as a “Don’t” shaped pause. He was surprised to admit to himself, he wanted little ones to raise. Though, he might avoid spawn of his own in light of his own upbringing. His mind conjured a certain athletic brunette, being swept off her feet on an evening like tonight, and what she might look like when kissed breathless. Remembering part of a conversation Cassandra and Evie had had about rugrats, he recalled Cassandra had indicated she wouldn’t be opposed to having children of her own. He’d been surprised by the admission, fully expecting Cassandra to reject the idea especially as she was every inch a Warrior Goddess. Resuming his walk, he began to imagine what her children would look like. They would have her raven locks, maybe with a little curl, warm amber eyes, her laughter, and uncompromising sense of truth and duty. A wistful sigh escaped him. Laughing at himself he carried on. The benefit of being alone out here was that he could fantasize about her with impunity and not fear a blade.  

Entering his room, he shut the door against the ever-present chill, and stoked the fire. He warmed his hands, and luxuriated in the warmth pouring into his bones. Pulling his favorite chair near the fire, he pulled off his gloves, poured himself a generous brandy, he settled in to enjoy the dance of the flames. Watching the way the flames moved back and forth, amongst then through one another, blending into one, then separating into pieces, a certain raven-haired beauty once again rose in his thoughts. Closing his eyes, he savored one of his favorite memories of Cassandra. Andraste’s ass he already had so many. They’d had a particularly rough day in the Hissing Wastes. It had seemed like they couldn’t walk a hundred paces before they found themselves in pitched battle with phoenixes, wyverns, bandits, wolves, blighted Venatori, or damned dragons. They had finally managed to drag themselves to a camp that bordered an oasis. Despite their utter exhaustion, Evie, Cass, Bull, and he had peeled their armor at camp, dropped their weapons at their tents to tend to later, grabbed their washing things and run for the water squealing and laughing like children at play. Varric chuckled at the memory. They had gotten to the water’s edge and were in the process of stripping off their grimy, stinking, oily under clothes, when Varric had been temporarily mesmerized by a scar on Cassandra’s body that traced its way up her outer thigh, crossed her lower abdomen, and disappeared under her breast band. The spell was broken thanks to Evie’s smack to the back of his head which snapped him back to where he was. Surrounded by friends, getting ready to wash the grime away in a gorgeous pool of water, and he was just gonna have to turn his back to the rest of them for a little while until he regained control. Momentary fear flashed through him when Cassandra’s eyes caught his. They twinkled as she carefully leaned toward him, punched his left shoulder and said, “Last one in buys drinks for a week back at Skyhold!” He picked up his jaw realizing she’d had no idea the direction his thoughts had taken while his eyes had traced the path of her scar.   

Maker bless whomever had invented the tunic. Everyone would have had no problem discerning the path his thoughts of Cassandra had run. As it was, he’d tried to beg off at the last second but Tiny’d scooped him up like he weighed nothing, and carried them both down to the water’s edge. Varric’s “problem” fading quickly in the panic that Bull would out him to Cassandra. She’d kill him if she knew how he felt about her. Maker’s balls Tiny wasn’t known for keeping secrets. Varric expected a ribbing at the very least, might as well set it up, he thought.

“Hey Tiny, are you planning on proposing first, or are we a done deal?” Bull laughed freely, dumping the dwarf in the water.  
“Sorry, Varric, the chest hair’s a big turn off. Besides, you know Qunari don’t marry. I’d just ravish you here. Invite the girls to join us.” At the shocked expressions on both Evie and Cassandra’s faces, the two men laughed, stripped and jumped into the pool after Evelyn and Cassandra. What followed was an entertaining unwind session for the four friends. Varric, Cassandra, and Tiny by turns were stand-ins for Curly, and agreed to allow Evie to practice her flirting. Cassandra had declared her “abominable” after two hours of practice. Evie had had the good grace to laugh with them when her attempts fell flat. Evie had it bad for Curly, and everyone in Skyhold knew it, except for Curly. Likewise, everyone in Skyhold knew Curly was carrying a torch for Evie. Neither could seem to get over their nervousness to do anything about it. They’d each tried to reassure Evie that she had no need to worry that her feelings weren’t reciprocated by Curly. She just needed to tell him bluntly how she felt. Blunt was a strong point for her. Even Tiny had started encouraging her to go the direct route with Curly after his flirtatious banter had soared over Evie’s head. Varric chuckled aloud when he had realized just how much Evie reminded him of Daisy. His heart twisted a bit, not really one to pray often, he wished his friends well and hoped Andraste guided them with her light, or something. Kept Daisy and Junior safe somewhere.

He’d been grudgingly impressed with Carver’s maturity once he and Daisy had become an item. It turned out to be a good thing for both. She’d encouraged him to become a Templar, which was something he’d wanted to become, but she also refused to kowtow to him. Her influence had helped him see the shades of grey inherent in everyone. His love and respect for her had drawn her away from the lure of blood magic, and into more healing magic. She’d also become something of a leader for the elven in Kirkwall. She’d bloomed under Carver’s adoration, like a sunflower. And no, Carver was no Garrett, but he was becoming a friend to Varric in his own right. By the light of the campfire later that night, Evie, Bull, Cass, and Varric had set about caring for their armor and weaponry they’d discarded in favor of being clean and grit-free. Stories got shared. Varric shared his concerns about Daisy and Carver, Aveline and Donnic, Garrett and Broody, Bella and even his fears for Blondie with them, hell, he was worried Kirkwall would fall into the Waking Sea before they were done with Corypheus’ nonsense.

He knew Cass’ hand on his arm was supposed to convey sympathy, but the electricity which shot through him jolted him out of his musings, and having caught the scent of her shampoo, his previous “problem” resurged with a vengeance. He must have jumped because Tiny’s knowing laugh almost chased him from the campfire right into his tent. Her hand on his arm stopped him once again. Her concerned amber eyes met his nervous brown ones, her voice warmer toward him than he’d ever heard before. His heart was racing, he hoped she couldn’t feel his pulse jumping. His name on her lips was almost a caress.

“Varric? Is something wrong?” Her words piercing his panic-drenched thoughts. Andraste save his ass, please don’t let her look down, please. His voice came out rougher than he’d intended, he jerkily shifted, desperate to put some space between the two of them. If he remained where he was, she’d skewer him for kissing her like he wanted to.

“Uh, yeah, Seeker, I’m fine. You?” His life-saving attempt to be flippant failed miserably, her concern for him, changing to suspicion, and her voice became sharper.

“You are not fine. I touched your arm and you jumped as if you had been burned. You are not here. You have been distracted all day.” A note of hurt crept into her voice. “I thought we had become friends, Varric. Surely you can tell us what is troubling you? That is what friends do for each other, is it not?”

Tiny’s guffaws cut through Varric’s panic. He glared at the larger man, Varric’s panicked eyes sending a silent plea for Bull to keep his conclusions of Varric’s current situation to himself. There was a terrifying moment when Varric was certain he’d have to regretfully inform Sparkler of Tiny’s tragic if accidental “demise” once they got back to Skyhold. But the Qunari kept his own council and threw out “Varric’s just worried that I’m going to kick his ass in Diamond Back again tonight. And I don’t take stories for currency. Unlike some players I won’t mention. That and I have more muscle than he does.” Cassandra’s blush was adorable. Varric tucked that tidbit away for another day.  

Before Varric’s brain could catch up to his mouth Varric shot back, “don’t you worry, Tiny, I’ve got plenty of muscle where it counts. No one has complained yet.” Bull roared with laughter, his retort cut off by Evelyn’s bare hand connecting with Bull’s chest. Shocked they all looked at Evie. Her face matched Varric’s favorite tunic. When they stopped laughing at their friend’s shocked embarrassment, they apologized. Apparently, Varric wasn’t the only one who forgot just how isolated Evie’s upbringing had been. The group spent a few more hours chatting merrily by the fire while they cared for their weapons and gear. When that was done the got up to go their separate tents. Dread built in Varric as he and Tiny walked in the same direction.

“So, Dwarf. How long have you been attracted to the Seeker?”

Ready lie on his lips Varric opened his mouth to say it, then stopped. In the weeks since Tiny had saved the Chargers, he had allowed himself to become more real to everyone. Less a thing, or a caricature of a man. Similarly, to the way the Kid was becoming more human.

“She’ll kill me, Tiny. She can never know.” Bull’s incredulous snort carried a little farther than Varric was comfortable with. Reaching Varric’s tent first, he invited the big Qunari in.

“Let me tell you a story.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric and Bull have a nice chat.

          

Varric was amazed how the big man before him could compress himself into tiny spaces all the while managing to look comfortable the entire time.  Must be part of that Ben-hassrath training, Varric mused. All the other Qunari Varric had ever met never looked comfortable. He was also grateful for Tiny’s circumspection. While the big man was around most people, he maintained that blustry persona, but Varric had spent time with him away from battle. With the Chargers, around a campfire, and slogging through the ass-end of the Hinterlands. Varric was certain there was the potential for something lasting between Tiny and Sparkler. Maker knew those two could use some joy. They reminded him of Hawke and Broody on so many levels. Sometimes the reminder made his heart ache.  

Varric was amazed too, how still the big man could be. Varric understood that kind of stillness. It was the taut string, the slotted quarrel. The finger ghosting above the trigger, a hair’s breadth away. Poised like a dancer on the edge of a knife, point of foot and blade-point. Frozen. Mere seconds from the cut. A deep chuckle snaps him from his musings.

“Narrating the story in you head again, eh, Varric? I thought you were gonna tell me why you keep avoiding our resident Seeker?”

Instead of the well-spun denials Bull had been expecting, the truth poured out of Varric. From his first meeting with the Seeker, the interrogation, the forced travel, to the unlooked for camaraderie that had sprung up over campfire tales along the road from Kirkwall to the port that would take them across the Waking Sea and on through the rest of their journey to Haven. Bull heard the facts recited and saw in them the relationship which had begun on an antagonistic note, mellow and change over shared experiences and time.

He saw his friend’s eyes grow fond and exasperated by turns whenever he described Cassandra or her actions. Then came the moment Varric realized his own attraction to Cassandra.  It was after that hellish battle here in the Western Approach. They’d all found an oasis. Evelyn had yalped loud enough to scare away the fennics that had been drinking from the water. They’d joked like carefree children, peeling off their clothing, readying themselves to jump into the inviting pool.

They’d all gotten used to Varric tracking scars and asking for the tale, filing the details away for later. Maybe his dwarven mind allowed him to catch and hold details others often missed or ignored all together. Bull thought Varric would’d’ve made one helluva spy if he ever really thought about doing it. Whatever the reason, Bull was damned impressed though.

Varric recounted noticing a new scar. One that began on Cass’ outer thigh, crossed her lower abdomen below her belly button, ending just under her left breast. Varric relayed to Bull the moment he knew he was in trouble. Instead of asking Cassandra for the details of the scar, he stood there thinking of all the ways he could map her body. He’d been gaping at her until Evie had helpfully slapped him out of it.

“I’d made up my mind to return to my tent,” he turned a glare on Bull, “when some big oaf picked me up bodily and tossed me into the water. Thank the Maker big oafs don’t do a thing for me.”

Bull roared with laughter. He remembered that day well. After he subsided, Bull smirked his reply.

“You’re welcome. I thought you were getting a little hot under the collar.” Bull shifted his leg, “You should tell her how you feel about her, Varric. I think you’d be surprised by how she responds. After all, she does like that book series of yours. That one with the poor writing and all the smut.”

“I don’t know, Tiny. I don’t think I could survive another knife to the book.”


End file.
